


Smoke Gets in Your Eyes

by LearnedFoot



Series: Peter/Tony Ficlets and Drabbles [13]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: BAMF Peter Parker, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Whump, Whumptober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-06
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-11-24 17:53:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20911697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LearnedFoot/pseuds/LearnedFoot
Summary: The smoke is everywhere, so thick the filters on Peter’s suit can’t keep up.





	Smoke Gets in Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> I had a fantasy that I would write one fic that combined all the whumptober prompts, but then life reminded me that I do not have time for that (at least not right now...maybe one day, belatedly?). But it's me, and it’s whump, so there’s no way I don't do at least a couple ficlets here and there. This one is for a combo of days 2 + 3 (explosions and delirium). Originally posted [here](https://fail-fandomanon.dreamwidth.org/391643.html?thread=2303155675#cmt2303155675); I’ve cleaned it up a bit.
> 
> Set in a vague handwavey time where Tony is alive.

The smoke is everywhere, so thick the filters on Peter’s suit can’t keep up. His lungs burn and his eyes smart, bright flickers of heat and crackling wood melding into a blur of danger behind tears. He can’t hear over the roar of the flames.  
  
It’s way, way too hot.  
  
Karen, who’s been busy listening in on every emergency service in the area, comes to life in his ear, reporting, “Peter, a potential glass line explosion is imminent.” There’s an urgency to the way she says it, an edge of panic that’s unusual for an AI that’s been programmed to be soothing even in the most stressful situations. “You need to leave.”  
  
“Gas line’s in the street, right?” he asks, dodging a falling beam. “Not directly under this house?”  
  
“No, but the structure is already too unstable, a blast could—”  
  
“Don’t care.” There’s a little girl in here. Her mother’s tear-streaked face is still sharp and clear in his mind; her desperate pleas, half English, half Spanish, all panic, words tumbling over each other so fast Peter almost hadn’t understood what she was trying to say. He’s going to get her out. He has to. That’s the entire _point_ of Spider-Man.  
  
“Isabel?” he calls, and then immediately buckles over, coughing, as smoke fills his lungs. It feels like breathing fire, but that’s okay. He’ll repair, Isabel won’t. He keeps pressing forward. He has to, he has to—  
  
He spots her just as Karen starts yelling that the explosion being imminent: twenty feet away, cowering in a closet, surrounded by flames, sobbing and coughing and so very small. They’d been playing hide and seek, her mother had said. She’s five.  
  
Peter gets to her with a single leap, propelling himself through flames that stick to his suit. He doesn’t have time to pat them out, doesn’t have time to do _anything_ but throw himself over the little girl before an explosion shakes the building. It’s felt more than heard, a rumble that hits deep in his bones, throwing him off center; suddenly everything is cracking, the roof is collapsing, all he can do is curl around Isabel and—

\--

“I’m going to kill you,” says a voice like Mr. Stark’s. Peter tries to reach for the sound but his arms remain limp and useless; tries to open his eyes but everything is fuzzy. His cheek presses against something metal and suddenly he’s floating, flying, and that doesn’t make sense.  
  
“What?” he asks as he rushes up and up, air turning clear, until the heat and smoke are gone, replaced with a cold wind. Is this a dream? “I can’t fly.”  
  
There’s a laugh somewhere above his head. “Good thing you know me, then.”  
  
That doesn’t make sense. Maybe things will make more sense if he just goes to sleep again.

\--

Later, he thinks he wakes up to Mr. Stark’s forehead pressed against his, his voice ragged with something that might be tears as he murmurs, “You’ve gotta be okay, kid. You can’t do this to me.”  
  
Then lips are on his cheeks, on his lips, the begging becomes desperate: “Please, Peter. _Please_.”  
  
A dream, definitely, he thinks as he slips back into darkness.

\--

When the world becomes solid, Mr. Stark is sitting beside his bed, head in his hands. He snaps to attention as soon as Peter moves, rushing to his side and taking his hand.  
  
“You’re awake,” he croaks, smoothing Peter’s hair. “Fuck, kid, don’t scare me like that.”  
  
“What?” Peter’s throat hurts, it hurts so much he can barely get the word out.  
  
Mr. Stark shushes him. “You’re okay, you’re safe. We’re the compound,” he explains gently. “I didn’t want you to end up in a hospital. The doctors might’ve had some questions about how you went from third degree burns to nothing in a few hours.”  
  
Oh. Yeah. That makes sense.  
  
“Your aunt is on her way,” he continues. His eyes won’t leave Peter’s face; he’s wearing an expression like he’s the best thing he has ever seen. It would make him blush if his body was able to do anything other than feel pain right now.  
  
“Isabel?” he manages to ask.  
  
Mr. Stark’s face goes soft. “She’s okay,” he assures him. “You saved her life. You absolute idiot.”  
  
Oh. Oh, good. Peter nods and gives a thumbs up. He wants to ask about the rest of it. He’s here, so the rescue must’ve been real. And the other thing—  
  
But when he tries to form words his throat closes, he’s hit with a coughing fit, and suddenly Mr. Stark is scrambling to get him water.  
  
Later, Peter decides, as Mr. Stark carefully lifts a glass to his lips, helping him sip, gentle in a way Peter has never experienced before. He’ll ask about that later.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, feedback is loved.


End file.
